


Hogan and The Three Sisters

by DixieDale



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 16:44:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19299721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Hogan meets three sisters and the handsome and charming senior prisoner of war sets in motion a chain of events that will prove memorable for not just him but others as well.





	Hogan and The Three Sisters

They were sisters, though different as night and day. Gerda was tall, strong, sternly handsome rather than beautiful, though beautifully Rubenesque of figure, perhaps more woman than most men would be willing to take on. She was slow to anger, but implacable once her anger had been aroused, and nothing would arouse her anger more than any offence offered to her family. 

Magda was beautiful, well-rounded if not so tall or strong as Gerda, warm and motherly, and no one could see her kind face or hear her gentle voice without imagining two or three small children at her knee, perhaps a babe at her breast. While she was comfortable and easy to be around and quite patient, she was fiercely loyal to her sisters, and woe betide any who thought to harm them, or drew THEIR anger, for hers was sure to follow.

Drusilla? Ah, she was small, scarcely five foot in height, and her slight build misled many into thinking she was a girl not yet budded into full womanhood. Lovely Drusilla had many talents, was a superb actress, had a keen knack with animals, and a truly wicked sense of humor. There were many who regretting arousing that part of her, for she would return ten-weight, nay, hundred-weight whatever was offered. Mercy, she thought, should be reserved for those deserving mercy, and she was a particularly harsh judge of any who offended her sisters.

And they shared, the sisters. They shared a father, a home, they shared knowledge, memories and experiences, hopes and dreams. Now they shared the work they did for the Underground, them as eager as any others to rid their homeland of the monsters who had taken control. And they shared in any reward or retribution any of them thought was appropriate to deal out. 

Their father had always told them, perhaps joking, perhaps not, that Gerda's mother was the daughter of the last German stone giant, that Magda's mother was a crystal witch, and Drusilla's mother a runaway member of the fey court. Well, none of them remembered their mothers, even Gerda, the oldest, so they accepted the stories, if perhaps with a grain of salt.

Their father had admitted, sadly but with a gentle smile on his face, that none of the three women had been comfortable in what he called 'the mundane world', and none hadn't remained long after presenting him with a daughter. 

"It was not that there was no love, meine Tochter, just that the very air seemed to poison them after a time, and they had to return to their homes in order to survive. They left you with me to console me for the loss, and because you had too much of me in you to do well in their world. I have no regrets; I was blessed to have them for as long as I did, am three-times blessed to have you with me."

Working with the Underground had been interesting for the sisters, and the conversations they'd taken part in, listened to, most interesting as well. And out of those conversations rose a great curiosity, to meet for themselves the men being spoken about, being discussed so candidly. Especially the ones being termed 'heroes', for it seemed that term covered a lot of varied ground with the members of the Underground, in particular the women. Sometimes the word was said admiringly, sometimes with a hint of amusement, sometimes with a slight tightening of the lips that was most intriguing. Tiger, in particular, seemed to have a number of interesting descriptions for the men she spoke of, enough they resolved to try and meet these men and decide for themselves just what they thought.

And soon the time came when one of them was chosen to be the contact for one of those men - a reputed charmer known as 'Papa Bear', otherwise known as Colonel Robert Hogan. One would meet and speak with him, but the other two sisters would not be far away; it was just their way.

That meeting with Hogan leads the sisters on a crusade to meet the OTHER 'heroes' the Underground spoke of, and yes, those perhaps not labeled as such, but men interacting with those on a frequent basis. How better to judge for themselves?

But, we are getting ahead of ourselves. Let us start at the beginning.

 

Hogan - The Beginning:  
He'd seen her first in Hammelburg, as he was leaving the meeting with the Underground Agent, Gerda. He wouldn't have been at that meeting in the first place, would have sent Newkirk or LeBeau, maybe even Carter, except he'd misunderstood or maybe misremembered the name. Turns out Gerda was a tall strongly-built woman, possibly able to have lifted Hogan with one hand while lifting a huge stein of beer in the other. So his memory was faulty! Upon checking his coded notes later, he realized that the pretty little brunette he'd met, and dallied with, back in January, was named Gersha, not Gerda. 

Well, so he'd looked around and saw a strange woman sitting at the table where he was supposed to meet his contact. He'd taken the table next to that one, keeping his eyes open for the brunette, and was a more than a little startled when the large redhead had approached him with the correct identification code. 

And maybe he was a little curt when he asked where Gerda was and heard the unwelcome news that this WAS Gerda. So maybe he was overly abrupt and dismissive, letting his eyes flicker over her and then away as if in annoyance. 

He got the meeting over with as soon as possible, just taking one or two sips at his drink, then took his leave. Her eyes had become a little more icy as the meeting progressed, but really, that wasn't his problem or his fault. After all, what did she expect, him to fawn over her like he would have the woman he'd been expecting? Puleeze!

Anyway, he wasn't in any too good a mood when he left the rendezvous. Heading back to camp immediately after the job was done just hadn't been in his plans; as he remembered it, the woman he'd met with before hadn't been opposed to a little up close and personal, and it was highly annoying to go back without what had been his secondary goal of the evening. Well, actually his primary. As I said, he COULD have sent one of the guys if that meeting was the only important part of the evening, and next time, if Gerda was the contact, he WOULD.

So, seeing the slender girl in the blue cloak at the end of the street, blonde curls highlighted under the street lamp, seeing the shy glance she sent in the direction of the beerhall, he straightened and headed in her direction. It was obvious she was impressed with him, her admiring eyes moving over his white trench coat and hat, her voice soft and fluttery as she told him her name when he asked. 

He gave her his very best, most charming, most seductive smile.

"Drusilla. That's very pretty. Well, it's only right, for a girl as pretty as you are to have a pretty name," and a shy giggle was his answer. 

He was just about to suggest he buy her a glass of beer, but then a woman's voice called from the doorway of the beerhall. "Drusilla? It's time to go, sister. Come along now." 

And as Drusilla hastened off, though with taking a look back in his direction, he saw the caped figure give him a stern glance that made his back bristle with annoyance, her scolding gently, "and what have I told you about talking to strange men, Drusilla? Yes, I'm sure he was very handsome, but you need to tend to your school books and your prayer books. Time enough for meeting handsome men when you are older."

Hogan regretted that interruption, but resigned himself to going back to camp in the same unsatisfied state he'd left. Still, he wondered just how much longer that woman thought Drusilla should be satisfied with school books and prayer books. Wondered if maybe Drusilla had other ideas. He smiled, thinking HE had a few ideas he wouldn't mind sharing should Drusilla cross his pathway again. Very interesting ideas.

Magda and Drusilla waited while Gerda collected her coat and joined them. Gerda had laughed under her breath, giving them a rundown of the meeting and Hogan's reaction to meeting her. Obviously it was a very different reaction than what he'd had to Drusilla. 

Drusilla got a very thoughtful look on her face. She'd had no difficulty reading exactly what the handsome man had been thinking when he had been talking so sweetly to her, and it was only Magda's calling her away that kept her from seeing just how far he intended to take his advances. She didn't much like him being openly rude to her sister, or so slyly encroaching with her.

Now Drusilla had a few ideas of her own about the next time she and Hogan met. Most interesting ones, in fact, for he had piqued not just her temper but her curiosity. As anyone who knew her would tell you, Drusilla had an overabundance of both. And soon, her curiosity got the better of her, and rapidly spread to her sisters.

 

Schultz:  
Sergeant Schultz was lumbering along the side streets headed toward a small beerhall to lift a stein or two. The Big Shot was going to a meeting and wouldn't be expecting Schultz to pick him up anytime soon, so it was a rare free afternoon. 

He needed a break; the hard days flowed one into the other, and sometimes he had a difficult time envisioning anything different. A very hard time imagining a life after the war, a life with his Gretchen and his children; a life where he could perhaps make toys again; a life where the men and boys he was responsible for could return safely home again and resume their own lives. 

So far, though, his day was looking up. He'd just parked the car and started to make his way along the walk through the open greenspace toward the street that led to the beerhall, thinking the short walk would work off any weight the beer might put on. A futile thought, but still a worthy one. His lumbering walk was a heavy one, matching his heavy thoughts.

He'd only gotten a few feet when a tall, statuesque woman appeared from a side path. His eyes widened. Now THAT was a woman! Taller by far than his Gretchen, but with the same robust build, strong, capable features, and a mouth that made him almost as hot as her fulsome breasts and full hips did. An eager smile filled his face, and he let his eyes feast on her, before offering an appreciative, "hel-lo, ba-by!" 

He hadn't been surprised when she just walked on by. By her clothing, this was a respectable woman not given to accepting advances on the street, not that he was really making any, but that small smile and nod she threw in his direction, the open appreciation in her eyes of the compliment intended, that made him chuckle and his walk was a little more perky now.

The young matron at the corner was a different story. Oh, still a nice armful, certainly, but her arms were already full. A string bag of shopping, and a cooing bundle of sleepy babe, and a bonnet string that had just broken, leaving her with more tasks than hands available for dealing with them. Schultz paused, tipping his helmet respectfully, though taking time to appreciate her ripe curves and kind eyes, and offered to hold the babe while she fixed her bonnet. He coo'd back at the golden haired child, laughing at the bubbles being blown as the baby laughed at the funny faces Schultz was making. "Danke, Sergeant," he got, and that smile, those warm and laughing eyes, they made him think of his Gretchen too, and his step was now much more bouncy as he proceeded toward that much-desired pitcher of beer.

He'd just rounded the corner when a girl darted out of the alleyway, bumping into him. Well, she was small, Schultz wasn't, and the girl ended up sitting on the walkway with a frightened look on her face. He started to reassure her, but it quickly became apparent that it wasn't him she was frightened of, but the large dog who'd been chasing her. A few loud yells and a waving of his arms and the creature took off running.

Schultz sat his rifle aside and picked the girl up, sat her on her feet. Pulling out a handkerchief, he wiped the tears and dust from her face, and thinking how much she reminded him of his second daughter, he turned away from his notion of a tall beer and led her to the small eatery on the next block. 

There he used his beer money to buy her a sweet treat and a fruit drink, and sat talking to her much as he did his own children when he'd been lucky enough to spend time with them. That is, he drew her out about her likes and dislikes, her family, and told her little funny stories about his own children, even some funny stories about 'his boys and their monkey business', though carefully coached in terms not to betray any secrets, and told her about the wonderful toy factory that was once his, where he had made the most wondrous toys and dolls and puzzles. 

She'd told him her name was Drusilla, and that she had always loved dolls, but didn't have any of her own anymore. That her family had had to move several times, and her dolls had been left behind along the way. 

The time passed quickly and before you knew it, it was time to pick up the Big Shot. Before he saw her safely on her way, he'd used his handkerchief and some string he had in his pocket, some scrap paper and a patterned napkin he'd begged from the waitress and made her the most cunning doll. She'd dimpled up at him, kissed him on the cheek and made him promise that, when he reopened his toy factory, after the war, he would make a doll in remembrance of her and call the doll 'Drusilla'. "And give her two sisters, too. Their names should be Gerda and Magda!" and laughingly, he'd agreed.

Somehow, even though he got yelled at by the Big Shot for being late, he was in a much better frame of mind. No, he hadn't gotten his beer, but the afternoon had reminded him of better times, and somehow, seemed to promise better times ahead. Even Klink's yelling hadn't removed that smile from his face, not for good anyway.

The big dog was waiting in the alley, and Drusilla patted him gently on his furry head, thanking him for his help. He'd wagged his tail and sailed off home, thinking it had been an interesting sort of an afternoon. Maybe he and the young woman could play again some time.

 

Carter:  
Carter ran into Drusilla in the forest. Pretty much literally. He was playing tag with a squirrel, laughing and ducking as the fluffy-tailed rodent leaped out at him from a low-hanging branch and solidly tagged him on the side of the head. He'd looked up from where he'd landed in a pile of leaves to see a girl looked down at him, the squirrel sitting on her shoulder. 

She'd smiled, then laughed, stretched out a hand to help him up. 

"Jobie says you've had a good game. Most try to catch and eat him; not many want to play. He says thank you for the fun," she said as she brushed a few stray leaves off his jacket. They talked a little, and Carter forgot about being shy and awkward, found himself talking to her easily. Well, a girl who talked, and listened, to squirrels, what wasn't to like??!

Oh, he didn't talk about the camp or the missions or anything like that. Of course not. Just about stuff, like he'd talk to one of his girl cousins back home. Hopes and dreams and wishes - things, in fact, that he didn't much talk about with anyone. Things he kinda missed NOT having anyone to talk to about.

They'd sat for awhile under the trees, looking out into the meadow beyond, and she listened and nodded. Then Drusilla touched one finger under his chin and turned his head so she could look straight into his eyes. Her voice was soft and held a sing-song tone to it. 

"All you need, all you desire is within your reach. The one who will always listen to you and always hear you is also within reach, and also needs YOU to listen and hear in return. And you KNOW that, deep inside. Start listening to yourself, here, in your heart. You are looking too far afield, my friend, at the horizon instead of at your fingertips. Open your heart, dear boy. Know what love is, what passion is, what true caring is, so that you might recognize it when you see it in your true-love's eyes. Come, let me help," and she did. 

Well, it was hard to recognize all that if you didn't have a good example to compare it to. Especially passion, if that wasn't something you were so very well acquainted with. That she could show him, and most enjoyably for the both of them most like.

Andrew walked away from the forest glade with a broad grin on his face. Well, alright, maybe it was more of a smirk. For a stolen afternoon playing with the wildlife in the forest, that had turned into something else. {"Sheesh! REALLY something else!"}. 

Funny, the farther away from the forest he got, the less he remembered about Drusilla, just that he'd met someone who had told him he needed to be looking for something, something rare and valuable, and that if he looked very carefully, he would know it when he saw it. 

And the funny thing is, once he got back to camp, it wasn't all that hard after all, just a matter of opening his eyes and his heart to the truth he could now see clearly in a sardonic face and a pair of blue-green eyes.

 

Kinch:  
It had been a long night, on top of a long day. Early roll call by a highly apprehensive Kommandant Klink after the dogs had gone crazy around 4 AM, followed by a mid-day surprise inspection by a snarling Major Hochstetter, then getting set up for that mission tonight. 

His nerves were on edge; waiting was never easy, and the guys were more than two hours late. Hogan was off entertaining Klink and Burkhalter, keeping the Kommandant and the General occupied, hopefully enough that no one decided to call yet another surprise inspection. Having to explain the absence of Carter and Newkirk wouldn't be easy. At least he knew where LeBeau was, busy preparing and fussing over that elaborate dinner he was serving in Klink's quarters.

He sat by the radio, he paced, he wandered down to the emergency entrance to see if he could hear anything, popped his head back upside to see if Olsen had heard anything odd on the coffee pot bug they had in place.

Picking up his headset once again, twirling the dial to pick up any signals, he sighed and tilted his head back against his chair. He was startled to hear a voice asking, "is it always this difficult? The waiting, I mean?"

He looked up, shocked. A voice might not be that unusual; Sergeant Wilson might have wandered down to check on things, maybe even one of the three airmen they had bedded down in the side tunnel, though not likely, seeing how they seemed to feel about Hogan having a black man on his team. But a FEMALE voice? No, that wasn't anything he would have expected. 

Still, there she sat, on the small cot off to the side, head tilted to one side. She was very attractive, a woman grown, not a girl, with a comfortable air about her, soft brown curls, brown eyes slightly tilted at the sides. 

He knew darned well he was imagining things, decided he'd drifted off to sleep, even though he hadn't intended to. When a brief struggle to wake himself up proved fruitless, his mind and body stubbornly seeming insistent that he already WAS awake, he shrugged and just accepted the oddness of the moment.

"Well, is it?" she asked.

"Not always," he found himself telling her. "Sometimes it's better, sometimes worse. And it's not the waiting, so much. It's the uncertainty of what's coming. Like what Newkirk says, 'miles of sheer boredom and monotony, alternating with brief moments of exhilaration, and endless stretches of sheer terror."

She'd wrinkled her brow, thinking that over, then nodded, satisfied with that answer, though it bringing another question to mind.

"Is this Newkirk always so cheerful?" she asked, dubiously, and Kinch laughed.

"Oh, that IS Newkirk being cheerful! If Carter is our 'silver lining', then Newkirk is our 'gray cloud'. Man never stops complaining, though I don't know how much he really means it, not anymore. He's an odd character, you know. Well, they both are, in their own way."

"But they are your friends?"

"Yeah, they're my friends. Different as night and day, the two of them, and pretty much the same with me. You'd not think we would be friends, not close, or LeBeau either, but we are. Maybe it's just the war; don't they say it makes strange bedfellows?"

She smiled, "that's from The Tempest, but it doesn't say quite that. It is "misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows." It wasn't my favorite of his plays, but it was interesting in parts, though he got Caliban all wrong, of course."

"Well, we have misery enough around here, so I guess it fits."

"And the waiting is part of the misery," she said knowingly. "It would be easier to be out there with them, even though they are in danger?"

"Easier on me, in some ways, sure. But, I'm not exactly inconspicuous; there's not many jobs I can be much help on. Sometimes it makes me feel pretty darned useless, you know?" 

Why on earth he was telling her all this, he didn't know, but since it was just a dream, maybe it didn't have to make sense.

She frowned, thinking about that, then her lips upturned into a smile. 

"Do you not think it is of a help to them to know there is someone waiting for them to return? Waiting, worrying about them, ready to soothe their hurts, feed their hunger and thirst?" nodding at the first aid kit sitting beside her, the canteens of water, the plate of bread and cheese he had waiting. "I know that would comfort ME if I were out there. Remember, there are all sorts of Heroes, and often the truly GREATEST are the ones who have to remain in the shadows, doing what they can to help their friends, but without being so obvious about it."

He finally got around to asking her, "just who ARE you?" to get a warm chuckle in reply.

"I am Magda, but you mustn't tell anyone I was here. It will be our little secret, Kinch. Just as what I tell you must be our secret."

She reached out and cupped his jaw in her hand, and he felt a shiver, both at the cool touch and apprehension for what would happen if those three flyers wandered in this direction. They hadn't been any too happy with finding a black man as part of the team, and finding that same black man here with a white woman? It could get ugly real fast. But then he scolded himself for the thought; after all, he was still asleep, dreaming, and she wasn't even really here.

She smiled as if knowing his thoughts.

"For now, you wait in the shadows, and I am afraid that will be the case even more in the future. For a time these tunnels will become even more of a home for you. But the time will come when you will step out of the shadows, into the sunlight, you and your friends, your brothers. And there is a good life waiting for you, perhaps not immediately, but not so far away either. A life where you are respected for who and what you are, for the talents you bring to those who need you. A loving wife, one who is an almost-sister to one of your brothers here. A friend-who-is-more-than-a-friend as well; he will re-enter your life and both will be enriched. Do not be afraid to accept what he offers; there will be no harm but only an enriching of the good lives you will both have, separate but always close, family at some level. And a son. Ah, such a beautiful son you will have, Kinch, and he will have family and friends who love and protect him just as you will. You will remember all of this that I have told you, though you will forget ME soon enough, and if you think you are forgetting, hold this and you will remember what I said," and she handed him the blue and silver ribbon from her hair.

He awoke from his dreams, chuckling at the foolishness of it, but remembering the guys, straightening to listen and then relaxing back at the sound of their voices - both of them, loud and clear, bickering as usual. 

{"Waiting's over; they're back safe and sound from the sound of it."}. 

He started to get up, grab the canteens to take to them in the wardrobe room, but stopped, puzzled. Where the heck did THAT come from? He fingered the blue and silver ribbon wrapped around the fingers of his right hand, frowned, flickers of memories, portions of a dream filtered across his mind. Staring at that scrap of fabric, he hurriedly wound it into a small ball and thrust it into his pocket. It would go into his footlocker later, but for now, it was safe, there for him to ponder over when he had more time.

 

Klink:  
He tipped the bottle over his glass one more time, not sure his stomach could handle another drink, but certain he could not sleep without it.

Gerda watched, annoyance and contempt filling her as she watched one who had once been a warrior, SHOULD have still been a warrior. 

What was he now? She wasn't sure, any more than she was sure of why she was here in the first place.

What had she been wanting to achieve by coming here, to the quarters of the man in charge of this pit of misery? What had she hoped to learn? She didn't know anymore, only that just as Magda had been drawn toward the tunnels below, she had been drawn here.

She stood in the shadows, watched his face, saw his thoughts and emotions come and go, ever darkening, ever despairing, and something within her felt an unwanted pity, felt the urge to comfort him. 

She shook off the impulse, so unlike her, and stepped forward, thinking to challenge him, tell him to stop wallowing, to actually DO something about the things that were tearing at him. But then, she saw the inroads that had been made, the unmendable cracks and even wider breaks where pieces of this Wilhelm Klink were actually missing. 

She knew what she had been about to demand was truly beyond him, would forever more be beyond him, though there would perhaps be brief moments of the old warrior coming to light. 

She caught a brief vision of a demon, one who tormented and tried to possess this Wilhelm Klink, though frustratingly not a good enough look to recognize what skin, what face that demon wore. That made her uneasy; she didn't like knowing a demon was walking around the area unbeknownst to the rest of them.

He looked up, saw her through the alcohol mist that engulfed him, and his jaw dropped and his lips trembled, and to her shock and dismay, tears filled his faded blue eyes. 

"Grossmutter? I am so sorry, grossmutter, so sorry. I tried, I swear I tried," and tears slid down his hollowed cheeks.

And although it was Magda who was the maternal type, the broken warrior that he was reached out to Gerda and touched her heart, and she sighed, sat down in the rocking chair in the corner and held out her hand to him, pulled him onto her lap when he came close.

Nestling his balding head into her shoulder, feeling her arms around him, he listened to her steady heartbeat under his cheek, the soft murmurings of comfort, clung to her warmth, and his hand rested on, then clutched at her full breast. 

It was with an amazingly gentle smile she unbuttoned her blouse, laid her breast bare, and guided his eagerly searching mouth to the seat of motherly comfort and nourishment, and he suckled, and she rocked him in her arms til he finally slept. 

There was little she could do for him beyond that; his destiny was already set and she had never seen the sense in giving false hope. Perhaps she would visit him again, offer what she could, but she could not change what was already set in place.

It had felt odd, setting aside the warrior part of her, drawing out the maternal part that so rarely saw the light. But still she sat there, still rocking him, the broken warrior, til the dawn approached and she had to leave.

 

Hogan, Redux:

Newkirk and Carter bounded in from the compound, arguing over who had tripped who, with LeBeau following after, laughing at the pair of them, calling them something probably disreputable but since it was in French, they couldn't be sure of that.

They skidded to a stop at the sight of Hogan perched painfully on the bench, leaning forward rummaging through Newkirk's footlocker.

The Englishman asked, hesitantly, "there something you need, Colonel? Could 'elp you find it if there is." 

Well, Newkirk kept a lot of odds and ends in that footlocker, not just his personal stuff, but some 'exchange' goodies for dealing with the guards and the other prisoners, but Hogan had gotten really flushed when they'd found him with his hands inside the box.

"That cream that doctor sends you, the one for scrapes and bruises. I thought it was in a blue tin, but I don't see it," Hogan ground out. "And the red tin with the stuff for muscle strain?"

Newkirk shook his head regretfully, "sorry, Colonel. Used the last of the blue tin after that bust-up with the guards over at the refinery last month. AJ 'asn't sent any more yet, though sure 'ope 'e does; that stuff does beat anything I ever saw for the scrapes Andrew manages to end up with," flicking the younger American on the back of the head disdainfully.

"Hey, it isn't ALWAYS me," Andrew Carter protested. "Well, yeah, MOST of the time, maybe, but not ALWAYS!"

Newkirk ignored him, "and the paste for muscle strain, we wiped the very last of that out to tie up Carmody's sprained knee last week. Fraid we're dry on all counts."

Hogan growled. He was in pain and they were doing their usual comedy act! 

He went back into his quarters to sit, carefully, on the lower bunk. His lower back was still spasming, causing his hips to thrust forward at the most awkward of times, and the whole area felt red hot. 

AND, every time his back spasmed, his front rubbed on his trousers and he just about screamed.

Because as for feeling red hot! There was another portion of his anatomy that he'd intended to slather that comforting and healing cream all over, and that was more painful than his back. At least his back wasn't raw and all scraped up! 

He thought about checking Klink's medicine cabinet, but that would come to close to admitting a weakness to the Kommandant, and that would put him several steps back in his progress there.

He settled for going to Sergeant Scotty Wilson, their medic. There were the inevitable questions there, of course, but he pulled rank and barked out a quick reprimand that, while it got him a doubtful look and raised brows, at least shut the man up!

Taking the proferred ointment for his front and liniment for his back, he made his painful way back to this quarters and gratefully shut the door behind him so he could seek relief in private. Easing himself down on the lower bunk, the upper one being out of the question right now, he tried to sleep, tried to put the events of the prior night out of his mind, tried to scrub it from his very memory.

As he drifted off to sleep, the memory revisited him, and his moans filtered out into the other room.

 

"What is wrong with le colonel?" LeBeau whispered.

"Don't know, but sounds bloody painful. We aint been out doing anything too dire, so don't know what it could be," Newkirk puzzled.

"Well, he was meeting that Underground contact last night. Maybe something went wrong," Carter offered.

"I hardly think so, Carter. He would have said something, and he didn't. Just said he gave the contact the information and that was it; no problems at all," Kinch reasoned.

Carter snickered, "well, if all he gave the contact was the information, then I guess it wasn't Gersha like he was hoping for," getting a snarly response from the rest, all along the lines of "shut up, Carter!"

Still, they had to admit the truth of Carter's witicism. LeBeau sneaked his head into Hogan's quarters, but the man seemed to be sleeping now, though restlessly. He shrugged, and went back to the cardgame.

 

What they'll never hear from Hogan - 

In the moonlight, after they'd exchanged code names, he'd given her his usual 'aren't I just ever so handsome and charming' smile. Yes, she was just as pretty as he remembered, little Drusilla. And this time she was alone, no annoying females around to remind her that she should be tending to her school books and prayer books.

She giggled softly, and his mouth watered. She might say she was seventeen, but he had a feeling she had added a couple, maybe three years to her actual total. A giggle like that was just too young-sounding for even a seventeen year old. 

He asked, teasingly, "seventeen, Drusilla? Are you sure?" to get another giggle.

"Almost. Well, eventually I will be seventeen," she admitted, eyes shyly downcast, and he swallowed heavily. 

{"Eventually. That may mean she's sixteen, maybe fifteen. Who knows?"}. 

She sighed, prettily, and pouted just a little. "You know my name but I don't know yours. What do I call you?"

He wanted to growl "Master, Drusilla. You call me Master," but he figured even if she was less than sixteen, she still might have enough common sense to take fright at THAT declaration. So he smiled that smile again, leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "Jon, you can call Jon."

She prattled on. Lord! How she prattled on. If that didn't prove her youth, he didn't know what else would have! Nothing he had any interest in, certainly, and now she was talking about games she and her sisters played. Games? Yeah, definitely younger than sixteen! Who the hell cared, anyway??! He was more interested in the games he could teach her!

But then he grabbed hold of that last bit she'd come out with. 

"Hide and seek? Tag? You like playing those?"

Her eyes were bright and shining, "oh, yes! It is so much fun, and so exciting. Sometimes it gets a little scary when you're hiding and waiting to be found, or when someone leaps out at you, but it's a good kind of scary, you understand?"

He smiled, and any crocodile in the world would have envied that smile. "Then let's play, Drusilla. We'll combine the two, tag and hide and seek. You go, I'll follow, alright?"

She gasped with joy at the concept, and twirled and off she went, quick as a wild mink. He followed along, dodging around bushes and trees, searching for her in the shadows. The fact that there could be German soldiers out on patrol seemed to have totally slipped his mind.

He caught up with her in a tiny stand of nut trees, grabbed for her arm, laughing. 

"Damn! What the hell??!" he cursed as the squirrel he'd somehow caught up in his hand nipped him before struggling loose. He stood gape-jawed as the small rodent leaped away into the branches, chattering at him, mocking him. 

The giggle from the brush made him flush, knowing she'd seen that embarrassment. He was after her like a shot, determined she'd not out-fox him. In and out of the shrubs and trees, criss-crossing the path several times, finally he caught up with her, crouched down on her hands and knees under a tall oak. 

Grabbing her around the waist, he laughed eagerly into her shell-like ear, "now I have you, Drusilla. Now we change the rules of the game," and he trembled to feel her body tight against his. His body was responding, completing what had started when the game had just begun. 

Her back was against him, and his arms tightly clenched around her waist. He nuzzled her warm neck, inhaled her sweet female scent, ran his fingers over her smooth . . . smooth . . . FUR?!!!! 

He let go and leaped back just as the furious dog turned and tried to bite his face off. Swinging his arms up to protect his eyes, he fell backwards to the ground, only grateful the damned beast had decided to take off rather than go for his throat.

He sat there, shaking, wondering if he'd lost his mind, when the shy voice came from the shadows. "Are you tired, Jon? We don't have to continue, not if you are tired." 

He surged to his feet. "No, I'm not tired, sweetheart. But come here, I think we've done enough chasing around, don't you?" he barely got the words out in a pleasant tone of voice, certainly different than what he was tempted to use on the little tease.

But the teasing was over, and she came forward, sweetly smiling in the moonlight, and he pulled her into his arms. He thought about just taking her, right then, pushing her up against one of the trees, but decided, if nothing else, she was just too short. It wouldn't be comfortable. For him, of course; frankly, by now he didn't give a damn how comfortable she found the whole matter.

In the end he settled for easing her down against a fallen log, quickly pulling her clothes aside, readying himself, and proceeded to burn off all his built-up frustration. It was as if he couldn't stop, thrusting into her waiting body again and again and again. Even after he came, groaning in fulfillment, the thrusting didn't stop, not until he slowly slid into a dazed stupor.

 

"Well, I do hope he enjoyed himself," Drusilla calmly remarked to her sisters, all standing there watching.

Magda snorted, "well, probably more than that old log enjoyed itself. Doubt it's seen that much activity since the woodpeckers took a turn at it. Remember that old story Father told us, about the men from that tribe in India, where they were so virile they could impregnate a hollow stump? Think we should check back in a few months, see how that log is getting along?"

Gerda laughed, "hopefully not, Magda. Poor old log deserves better, I think. Come along, I think a glass of plum wine would go down nicely, don't you? And besides, we have to talk about the others, the ones we haven't taken a closer look at. Let's see, that would be this gloomy one, Newkirk, and the chase-around-the-forest one, Olsen. And there's the story-tellers, maybe all three of them? Langenscheidt, Dieter Van, and that Brust, who tells the naughty stories? What do you think?"

And happily chatting, the three sisters made their way toward the small house they shared, to now share some plum wine and a few plans for the future.

 

Eventually Hogan came to, face down over a fallen log, pants around his knees, and had to figure out how to extract himself from that hole in the log, left probably by some sort of borrowing rodent or bird. It was agony trying to get his pants zipped, and making his way back to camp was probably the most unpleasant trip he'd ever made. He wasn't sure just what had happened to him; he didn't remember anything after giving the Underground contact that information, but he sure as hell was going to have to come up with SOME explanation for his condition.

Back at camp, back still wanting to thrust his hips forward in an ever-increasingly painful rhythm, looking at the scrapes and embedded splinters he'd gathered, he knew there really wasn't any explanation he was willing to offer. He was just going to have to pretend nothing had happened. A little first aid, some positive thinking - yeah, he'd get through this. Whatever 'this' was. And wasn't it damned strange that he didn't have a clue of what really had happened out there???

The wind started up outside, and somewhere in the breeze there was the sound of gentle laughter.


End file.
